Motherhood
by MandyinKC
Summary: One-shots about Molly and each of her children.
1. Chapter 1: A Place of His Own

Author's Note: Thank you to Burgundy Hope for Beta-ing this collection for me, and also supplying the prompt of Peter Pan which is used in the first chapter. There will be seven of these, published once a day. Please watch for the next chapter to come soon!

Disclaimer: The characters and the world they live in belong to the wonderful JK Rowling.

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A Place of His Own

 _June 1983_

"Fred and George!" Molly shouted up the stairs.

She had Ginny on her hip, leaning against the balustrade as if that could help her see the twins any better. The Hogwart's Express was due into the station any moment, returning the children for the summer holidays. She should have been there twenty minutes ago to pick up Bill after his first year, but first she had to get this lot sorted and into the Floo.

"Fred! George!" Molly huffed. "Charlie, go get your brothers. No! Ronnie, don't you move."

Her second rushed up the stairs, cracking his knuckles. Charlie was keen to see Bill after so many months of separation—those two were so close. Molly was a bit concerned that Charlie would be overly rough with his twin brothers, but she stuffed that thought aside. She needed those boys down here now!

Looking around, she noticed there was another one missing. Percy was nowhere to be seen. Honestly, he was the only who ever listened, and he chose this moment to ignore her order to _stay put_? Wherever could that boy be?

Still carrying Ginny, who was leaning sleepily against her shoulder, Molly wondered into the sitting room to find her third boy sitting on the sofa, book in hand. An admonishment was on Molly's lips, but it died at the sight of him. Gangly legs dangling above the floor, book held loosely between his knees, shoulders hunched, Percy looked very alone. Molly's heart gave a momentary squeeze, but then the clock chimed the hour.

"Percy dear, we have to go."

He looked up, eyes shiny behind his glasses. "Do you think Charlie will still want to play with me now that Bill is back?"

Molly opened her mouth to offer Percy assurance, but the words got stuck. The truth was Charlie would probably be so excited to have his best mate back, that he would completely forget about his little brother. Molly would remind him a dozen times not to exclude Percy, but she knew from experience that her words would fall on deaf ears.

"Come along, dear," she said, extending her free hand. "We have to pick up Bill. You're excited to see Bill, aren't you?"

Sliding of the sofa, Percy pushed his glasses up. "Yes, ma'am. Can I bring my book?"

"It's 'may I' and yes, you may."

By the time Molly and her six children tumbled through the Floo, the red steam engine was already in the station. Instructing Charlie to keep a hand on the twins, and noting that Percy already had Ron, she bustled into the depot. Parents were milling about, some of them leaning on empty trolleys, but no children yet. Thank goodness, it seemed they were not overly late.

Molly skidded to a halt, and craned her neck to see if any of the students were disembarking yet. "Fred, George, give me that right now! How did you get a hold of dung bombs?"

"Hello!"

At first Molly didn't realize anyone was speaking to her, then a tall, dark haired witch walked up, holding her hand out. Two boys with equally dark hair followed in her wake. Molly quickly stowed the dung bombs in her pocket, scanning the children one more time for stains or dirt streaks.

"Are you Molly Weasley?" the other witch asked.

"Yes."

"I'm Roberta Wood. My eldest son, Dougal, writes home about your lad Bill all the time."

"Oh! Yes!" Molly gushed. She shifted Ginny on her hip to shake the other woman's hand. "We have been regaled with all of their adventures. Bill's my eldest, too."

The two witches shook hands, falling into the easy talk of mothers about children and cooking and laundry. The two Wood boys lost no time in introducing themselves. The older of the two seemed to be Charlie's age, and before Molly could say 'Snitch', the two were bedeviling the twins. The other boy, tall and burly where Percy was tall and weedy, was prattling on about broomsticks.

"Ollie," his mother tsked. "Not everybody is interested in flying."

The boy looked at Percy with wide eyes. "You like to fly, don't you?"

Molly held her breath. Though her older sons loved to take to the skies, and the twins were incorrigible, Percy was rather indifferent about broomsticks. He'd fly if pressed, and he wasn't bad at it, but it wasn't first love.

"Flying is alright, I reckon," Percy answered.

"See, Mum, everybody likes broomsticks," Ollie said indignantly. "What's your name, kid?"

Roberta rolled her eyes. "I despair of that one."

"I know just what you mean." Molly laughed, but out of relief as much as anything. Percy was bright and kindhearted, but he could never seem to find his place in the world. Bill and Charlie included Percy, usually at Bill's insistence, but Percy wasn't really a part of the friendship the older two had forged. The twins wanted nothing to do with Percy, unless it was to take the mickey. Even at family gatherings with all of Arthur's brothers and their sons, Percy couldn't quite find a mate to pal around with.

"Is Ollie seven?" Molly asked. The boy was rather large, he could easily be older.

"He's eight," Roberta answered.

"Oh, I thought maybe the two of them would go off to Hogwarts the same year."

Roberta looked at them, brow furrowed. "They may still, Ollie's birthday is in September so he won't go until he's nearly twelve."

Molly brightened. "You know, I was just thinking your boys should come out to the Burrow this summer."

Once they had Bill collected, and parted with the Woods, Molly marched her children through Platform 9 ¾ to the designated Flooing area. The two older boys had Bill's trunk between them, Charlie chattering happily to his elder brother. Fred and George tagged after, too excited to have Bill back to get into mischief. She called out for each of the older boys to take one of the younger ones through the Floo.

"Percy, dear," she said, her eyes lighting on her bespectacled son for a moment, "where is your book?"

Percy looked up, his hand firmly wrapped around Ronnie's. "I loaned it to Ollie. He's never read _Peter Pan_ and I've read it twice."

Molly smiled. "That was nice of you, dear. Now, off you go."

oOo

 _January 1997_

Molly pulled her cloak more tightly around her as she stepped out of Fred and George's shop into Diagon Alley. Both boys had offered to walk her to the Leaky Caldron, but Molly insisted she could do it herself. It may be dangerous to walk alone through Diagon Alley these days, but she would rather do it herself than think about one of her sons having to make the return trip on his own. Not that Molly was foolish enough to think that her rebellious twins didn't do just that whenever they pleased. Tempting fate seemed to be their favorite pastime.

With her head down against the wind, Molly didn't see the burly young man walking up the steps to the shop until she nearly ran into him. "Oh! Oliver? It's been so long."

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," he said, a small smile on his face.

Immediately, Molly wanted to ask about Percy. He had come to the Burrow briefly over Christmas with the Minister for Magic. Seeing his familiar face—and on Christmas, too—after so long had fanned the flame of hope she kept for her third boy. She had longed for Percy to come home so many times since that awful row with Arthur more than two years ago, and all of sudden there was Percy, in her home, near enough to touch. Of course, things had not turned out the way she would have wanted. The twins and Ginny had played their part, razzing their brother, and Molly had watched as Percy pulled up a shield of pride and stubbornness to hide his hurt at the rejection.

On one side, Molly was so angry with Fred, George, and Ginny for treating their brother so shabbily. Didn't they know how sensitive Percy was? Didn't they know how his estrangement had caused Molly so many sleepless nights? At the same time, how could Percy expect to walk back into the bosom of his family without harassment? The things he'd said to Arthur, the way he'd sent back all of his Christmas jumpers, had hurt the entire family.

Yet, if Percy had cut himself out of his own family, he still had one person who was always in his corner. Molly very carefully kept tabs on her third son, eating up any bit of gossip or tattle that she could find, and she knew his friendship with Oliver Wood never wavered. Looking up at the dark-haired boy who had grown so handsome, Molly felt about as near to Percy as she had in all these years.

Taking a deep breath, Molly forced herself to ask about happier things. "I hear Dougal's baby was born."

"Aye, just before Christmas."

"How big was he?"

Oliver held his hands up before him as if he were clutching a ball. "About the size of a Quaffle."

"Oliver." Molly shook her head, unable to hide her smile. "You never change."

Oliver blushed, shrugging one shoulder. "He's ginger, like his mum."

"Oh. Oh, how wonderful."

They lapsed into silence, but neither of them wanted to move away yet. Percy was there between them, Molly could feel it just as if he had walked up. Yet, both she and Oliver were having a hard time bringing up the issue.

Finally, Molly looked at her hands and said, "Do you hear from Percy?"

Oliver exhaled as if he were relieved that she was the first to say anything.

"About every day," he replied.

"And… how is he?"

"An idiot, for all that he's completely brilliant."

Molly smiled. "You know, he came to the Burrow for Christmas."

"I know." Oliver sighed again. "I tried to talk him out of it."

"Oh no, I'm glad you didn't. I mean, it didn't go well."

Oliver snorted.

"But I was glad to see him. He looks like he's lost weight. Is he eating well?"

"Um, I guess. I mean, I don't check to make sure his lunches are packed or anything."

"No, of course not." Molly pressed a hand against her forehead, laughing despite herself.

"But… he's doing all right. He works himself too hard, and has no social life, but I don't think that would be different if…" Oliver trailed off, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking on his heels. "Well, I think he wants to come home, he's just such-such a bloody arsehole! Pardon the language."

"Think nothing of it." Molly reached up and kissed his cheek. "And thank you."

Oliver turned red. "I'll kick his arse, if you think it'll help."

"Thank you for the offer, but I'm sure that Percy is perfectly capable of punishing himself."

"Aye, that's half the problem."

"Well." Molly cleared her throat, feeling a tad overwhelmed all of a sudden. "Tell your mother I said 'hello'."

Patting Oliver's arm one more time, Molly stepped down from the storefront and made her way up Diagon Alley. When she looked back, she noticed Oliver still standing on the stoop watching her. She couldn't help but be glad that Percy and Oliver had become friends.

oOo

 _June 1999_

The door was opened by Audrey, and already Molly could hear the baby crying in the background. She frowned at the girl, mostly because she still didn't like that Percy and Audrey lived together without a ring in sight. It had been a year since Percy had let that information slip (Molly thought he'd been hiding it from her beforehand), but what could she do? Like it or not, Percy was a grown man who was more than used to living by his own rules.

"The baby expert is in the bedroom," Audrey said, smirking a bit.

"How long has he been crying?" Molly asked.

"Long enough for Percy to start panicking."

Molly gave Audrey a hard look. "It's not funny."

"If you'd seen the way that Percy pompously assured Oliver and Katie he knew all about babies when they left Bobby in his care, you'd be singing a different tune."

Molly huffed and marched back to the bedroom of the small flat. She knew that Audrey was good for her son. The girl made him laugh, and she didn't let him take himself too seriously. More importantly, Audrey had helped Percy repair his relationships with his brothers after the war ended. Even so, Molly wished that the girl were a little more… well, traditional.

"Mum!" Percy sprang off the bed, his dark-haired godson in his arms. "Thank Merlin you're here."

He thrust the screaming baby into her arms. The poor child couldn't be more than five or six months old, but he was a strong, burly baby, and his face had gone completely red in his unhappiness. Molly held him close, wiping away tears from his cheeks.

"I checked his nappy, offered him a bottle," Percy said, ticking off each item on his fingers. "I tried bouncing him, and rocking. I sang, remember how Ginny always liked to be sung to? I even took him out for a walk. I mean, he's Oliver's child, he has to like fresh air."

"Percy, slow down," Molly said. "Where's that bottle?"

"Um…" Percy summoned it with his wand.

"Now test it please."

Dabbing the rubber nipple against his skin, Percy frowned. "It's cold."

Tapping the bottle with her wand, Molly smiled. "Now try."

"Perfect."

"Alright then." Taking the bottle, Molly shushed the baby, bobbing up and down rhythmically, until finally he accepted the nipple. Immediately, Bobby quieted down, slurping noisily and burrowing into Molly's breast.

"How did you do that?" Percy asked, pushing up his glasses.

Molly twinkled at her son. "Magic."

"Thank you for coming. Honestly, I-I reckon I forgot how to take care of a baby."

"Of course I came when you needed me." Molly nuzzled the baby's head. "Besides, I do like to hold a little one. Not that you and Audrey should get any ideas!"

A blush crept up Percy's neck. "Mum…"

"Living together before marriage is one thing, but having a baby out of wedlock is quite another."

"Mum, really…"

"It's not as if I don't know what you get up to in this flat! There's only one bed."

The bottle was halfway finished, so Molly pulled it from the baby's mouth and held him to her shoulder, gently patting his back. Percy's face was now bright red, which served him right. The baby let out a loud belch, spit up going down her back, but Percy was quick to clean it with his wand.

"You needn't worry about Audrey and me," he said, not meeting Molly's eyes. "We're… careful."

"Hmph." Molly let her disapproval hang in the air for one more moment, before she softened. "You could have called Roberta, I'm sure she would have been glad to help out with her grandson."

Percy shrugged. "I convinced Oliver that I would be an excellent babysitter, I didn't want him to think I'd broken his son."

Molly pretended to look at the baby as he finished off the bottle, but really she was watching Percy from under her eyelashes. It had occurred to her over the years that having seven children meant that she had two middle kids in some way. Percy was sandwiched between Bill and Charlie, who were so close, and the twins. Then there was Ron, wedged between the twins and Ginny, the only girl. Maybe, had they been closer in age, Percy and Ron would have made good playmates, but that was not how things worked out. Instead, both of them had made a family for themselves through their choice of friends. Could she have known, all those years ago when she met that Quidditch-mad child that Oliver Wood would grow into someone she kept in her prayers every night?

"Here, Mum, I can do that."

The baby finished his bottle, and Percy took him. Bobby nuzzled his head against Percy's shoulder, half asleep and content.

"Do you remember that book you gave Oliver when you first met?" Molly asked. "It was a Muggle book, wasn't it?"

Percy chuckled. "Yes, _Peter Pan_ , I'd forgotten all about that."

"Did he ever read it?"

"Yes, remember? When he came over later that summer, we got covered in mud looking for pixie dust. Oliver wanted to see if it would really make us fly."

"Ooohhh," Molly groaned. Her children had a special talent for getting dirty, but it had taken a half hour under the hose to get those two rinsed off. Molly was quite certain that was the filthiest Percy had ever been in his life.

There was a commotion in the front room, then a small blonde woman in a black frock came streaking into the bedroom, snatching the baby out of Percy's arms.

"Has he nursed yet?" she asked breathlessly.

"Just finished his bottle," Percy replied. "But what are you doing back so soon?"

"Katie's milk came in and she had a complete break down," Oliver answered. He was standing in the doorway, leaning against one hand, a pair of high heels dangling from the other.

"I did not," Katie snapped.

Molly smiled. "You're first night away from the baby, dear?"

"Yes."

"You shouldn't have hurried back, I had everything under control," Percy scolded.

Oliver looked at Molly, then at Percy with one eyebrow cocked incredulously, but all he said was, "Party was a drag anyway."

"Well, stay for tea at least," Audrey said, appearing by Oliver's side. "I have the kettle on. Would you like to have a cuppa, Mrs. Weasley?"

"Oh no, dear."

The young people filed out of the bedroom, but Molly kept her eyes on her son. This was a small moment, in the scheme of things, but she was glad to be there to witness it. She watched Percy, tall and gangly, as he laughingly denied whatever good-natured accusations Oliver was making about his competency.

Thinking she would make a quiet exit, Molly went to the door, but she was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. She looked up into that familiar, freckled face. "Yes, dear?"

"Thank you for coming, Mum," Percy said, and bent down to hug her.

"Any time." She squeezed him tight because she could. "Now, have fun."

With a wave, Percy turned, and nearly ran into Audrey with the tea tray. Milk spilled as Audrey jerked out of the way, bursting into peels of laughter. Instead of looking clumsy, Percy laughed too, taking the tea tray and kissing the girl that he loved. He did not look in the least bit lonely.

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A/N 2: Psst! Don't forget to review.


	2. Chapter 2: A Warm Glass of Milk

A/N: Thank you to those who have favorited or followed my story. I read Harry Potter as an adult, after I had children of my own. I strongly identified with Molly as I read it, in part because I'm a mother myself, but mostly because she reminds me of my Grandma. So, hopefully I do both ladies justice.

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A Warm Glass of Milk

With a start, Molly came fully awake. The room was pitch black, but its strangeness pressed in on her immediately. The air was wrong, the give of the mattress was wrong, the smell was wrong. Then there was that faint buzz of Dark magic that could be felt everywhere in the house. The only thing that was familiar was Arthur's warm form beside her in bed. It took a moment, but Molly remembered where she was. The House of Black, 12 Grimmauld Place, London, England, for nearly a month now. The air was stale because no country breeze wafted through open windows. The mattress was musty and hard from a decade of disuse. The smell of damp and mold permeated every corner. And Molly had woken from another nightmare.

It was the same nightmare she'd had since the night of the Third Task of the Tri Wizard Tournament when Harry had returned from some _graveyard_ clutching the dead boy's body and-and-

Molly sat up. She pressed a hand to her chest and tried to ease her breathing. Oh, this was all Sirius' fault!

Certainly being in this drab, old house didn't make Molly's dreams any less unpleasant—never mind the fight she'd had with that infernal man not many hours ago. Easing out of bed, careful not to wake Arthur, she found her slippers and dressing gown. A little warm milk is what she needed. Then she would just put these silly fears to rest and that would be that.

Molly couldn't remember the exact details of the nightmare this time, but that didn't matter. It was always the same. A bright, sunny morning at the Burrow, Molly pregnant with Ginny, when Minerva McGonagall would come and the skies would turn instantly dark and forbidding. It was the morning that Minerva had come with the news that Molly's brothers were dead. Only then everything changed. Minerva still walked into the kitchen, but Molly wasn't pregnant any more. Instead, her two youngest—teenagers—were sitting at the table and the old professor would say that Arthur was dead. Or Bill. Or Charlie. Or Percy. Oh!

For more than a fortnight, Molly had been told that every single member of her family from Arthur to Harry to little Ginny had been killed. Once Alastor Moody had been there, dumping Fred and George's bodies on her kitchen floor, lifeless and grinning. Molly shivered just remembering that particular nightmare.

She tried to tell herself that this wasn't like the last time _he_ came to power. The Order of the Phoenix was ahead of the game this time around. There were no mysterious killings or disappearances. _His_ loyal followers didn't number so high as they once had. None of it was comforting. Last time, Molly had two reckless brothers in the fight, both of them dead now for their efforts. This time….

Molly stopped at the base of the stairs and leaned heavily on the post.

This time.

Arthur was involved, and Bill, and Charlie. Molly was no fool, she knew that no matter how she tried to delay the inevitable, it was only a matter of time before the twins joined the Order as well. What if this war stretched on as long as the last one? Would Ron join, too? And Ginny? There was no question of Harry joining. Even if he didn't, the poor boy was already marked for death.

And then there was Percy.

With a sigh, Molly carried on down to the kitchen. She tried to keep busy, she tried to keep the children busy. Work, she told herself, would keep her mind from wandering to all the horrible possibilities. The Order deserved a comfortable home to call its Head Quarters and if there was one thing that Molly Weasley knew how to do it was how to create a home. Create a family. That was something Sirius deserved as well.

Honestly, that man drove her mad. Molly accepted that he wasn't a mass murderer on Dumbledore's word, but Sirius Black certainly looked the part. Long, wild hair, scraggily beard, sunken, haunted eyes. It was the eyes that pulled at Molly's heart the most. Sometimes, when Sirius was with Lupin or Tonks, Molly could see the boy Sirius must have been. Maybe not carefree, but full of mirth and life and arrogance, but then those eyes would tell a different story. One of a man who had wrestled his demons to come out the other side alive, but not victorious.

Molly thought maybe she could, or even should, dredge up a spot of empathy for Sirius if only he didn't frighten her so badly. Oh, not _him_ , but what had become of him. For weren't her own sons full of mirth and life and arrogance? Especially the twins. And weren't they reckless and loyal? And then there was Harry.

The boy wanted a father so desperately, and here was a ready made one in the form of his godfather, but Sirius wasn't fit for the role. That was a tad unfair. Sirius loved Harry, and he was willing to care for him, but sometimes that wasn't enough. Sirius was a sullen wraith stuck in the past with only a feeble grasp on the present. Molly had accused Sirius of mistaking Harry for James, and she wouldn't take it back. However cruel her words, they were the truth. She wasn't going to spare Sirius's feelings for Harry's well being.

Arthur, blast him, wanted to take a more hands off approach. He wouldn't go against her in front of others, but he'd let his feelings be known. Sirius and Harry were family, and Molly had no business sticking her nose in where it didn't belong. Well, Harry was Molly's family, too! She'd have her say, even if no one was listening.

Coming up on the kitchens, Molly saw the light leaking out from beneath the door. She supposed it was that terrible House-elf, but she still proceeded with caution. Kreacher was not to be taken lightly. He was devious and spiteful, no matter was Hermione said, the misguided girl.

Easing the door open, wand in hand, Molly saw a familiar head of ginger hair and broad shoulders. Blowing out a relieved breath, she bustled in. "Fred! What are you doing up?"

The boy looked up from his mug. "I'm George. Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother."

"Fred." Molly propped her hands on her hips, glaring at her son. "I might get turned around when we're all in a hurry, but I do know the difference between you and George."

"Alright, alright, you've caught me out."

"Now, why aren't you in bed?"

"I could ask the same of you."

With a sigh, Molly went to put some milk in the caldron. All the cooking had to be done over the fire, which was unfortunate. A range would be much easier, but she supposed neither Walburga Black, nor any of the witches who preceded her, ever had to do their own cooking. Pointing her wand at the dying embers, a low fire sprang to life, and Molly placed the caldron over the flames.

"Where's George?"

Fred shrugged. "Bed. I didn't want to wake him."

Well, Molly could understand that.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

Lip curled, eyebrows furrowed, nose scrunched, Fred gave Molly such a look of disgust that she had to laugh.

"Mum," he complained. "I'm seventeen, not seven."

"Thank you for reminding me," she said mildly. "I had completely forgotten."

"Well, obviously. The way you carry on about me and George and our plans, and Hogwarts, and the Order. You think we're ickle first years or something."

Molly took a moment to reply. It wasn't that she thought Fred and George were still children. No, she was forcibly reminded they were not every time she saw the ginger stubble on their chins or heard the rumble of their voices. Besides, they weren't the first young men she had sent out into the world. It was just that they were so heedless. It wasn't as if Bill and Charlie weren't thrill seekers because they were, and Molly had lamented the fact more than once. The difference was that her eldest sons had a healthy respect for the dangers they were courting. Fred and George, they were like, well, they were like Fabian and Gideon, weren't they?

A band tightened around Molly's heart as she gazed upon her older twin. Fabian and Gideon eventually learned restraint if not true caution, but it had taken a war to knock even a shred of sense into them, and where had that left them? Molly didn't want that for her twin sons.

Before the milk could burn, Molly poured two mugs and sat down across from Fred. He discarded the mug in front of him in favor of the one that Molly passed over. Fred hated warm milk, always had, but he still curled his hands around the warm cup.

"I know you aren't a child any more," Molly said.

"You certainly try to keep us that way."

"I'm sorry that's how it seems, because that's not what I want."

Fred cocked one eyebrow in disbelief.

"Oh, I might have felt that way when Bill was going off to Egypt in such a hurry," Molly conceded with a small smile. "But I've learned a lot since then, like that I can't keep my babies little forever. I know you and George are of age."

"You mean 'adults'."

"Let's not get carried away."

"See!"

Molly patted Fred's wrist. "I was marrying your father when I was little older than you are now, so don't act as if I don't know a thing or two about trying to grow up too quickly. I do. I know what it is to pretend to be a woman when I was still just a girl."

"Well, Mum, I can't say that I have ever known what it is to be a woman or a girl, as I have been a boy my entire life."

"That's what you think."

Molly laughed at the appalled look on Fred's face.

"Muuuum!" Fred complained. "That-that was—Don't do that."

"Honestly, Fred, you can dish it out, but you can't take it?"

"Muuuummm!"

"Oh, calm down." Molly patted his wrist again. "I don't want to keep you and George little boys forever, but I would like to keep you safe for as long as I can."

"Safe is overrated."

"I'm not surprised to hear you say it." Molly pulled her hands into her lap, looking away. "Please forgive me if I don't agree."

Silence stretched for about thirty seconds, the longest Fred could ever remain quiet. It was different with George, who had a softer nature. He could stay silent for long stretches quite happily. Not Fred. He was bombastic. So full of energy that it burst out of him. He liked life in the limelight, and he was forever seeking to remain just right there.

"Eh, Bill came back around after you sent us to bed," Fred said, scratching the back of his head.

"Did he?"

Fred hung his head. "Yeah. Gave us a right bollocking."

"Fred. Language."

The tips of Fred's ears turned pink. "Well, if you'd been there, you'd know what I was talking about."

"And what did your elder brother say?"

Molly had a feeling that she knew, and she had a feeling that this was the reason Fred was up in the middle of the night without George. Of all her children, Bill and Charlie remembered the first war the best. By the end of it, things had grown so grim that there was no way to hide the realities of it from her older children. Then Fabian and Gideon had been killed. Arthur hadn't been home when Minerva came with the news. It had been Bill—just ten-years-old—who had to deal with the fallout of that awful morning. That had left a mark on him, Molly knew, because she didn't see the same mark on Charlie. They had both been quick to join the Order, but Bill had rearranged his entire life to come fight You-Know-Who.

Focusing again on the boy before her, Molly could see that Fred didn't want to admit to whatever Bill had said, but he wasn't the type to keep it to himself either. She would simply wait him out. She'd have to pull it out of George, but Fred would spill on his own accord. Funnily enough, it was the opposite when it came to trouble. George would admit to wrongdoing as if his soul depended on it, whereas Fred would keep mum until he was ratted out and had no choice.

"You know Bill," Fred complained, and sat back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. "He does that thing you do. The whole guilt trip thing."

"I can't help it if you have something to feel guilty over, Fred," Molly replied, suppressing a snigger.

"It's appalling, really," Fred complained. "He's such a big head. I know he thinks he's cool, but he's a swot like Percy." Fred looked at Molly, his face stricken. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Molly nodded her head, her neck only moving a fraction. "That's alright, carry on."

"He just… you know." Fred shrugged, looking at his hands. "He said you were scared, or some drivel like that, because we reminded you of-of Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon." He did look at her this time.

Oh, Bill. And Freddie, too. Molly wondered how long he'd been stewing over that. George, she was sure, probably felt shamed right off, but not Fred. He was always defiant, until his conscience got the better of him. He would deny and argue, sometimes even brood, though she was sure he would never admit to that. In the end, Fred always came around.

Reaching out to cup his cheek, Molly smiled softly. "You do remind me of your uncles."

"We don't mean to hurt you."

"Who said you hurt me? Oh darling, you and George are…Well, there's nothing for it, raising you has been exasperating, and a pure joy."

"Um, cheers?"

"Seeing my brothers in you two… it made the loss bearable. Watching you become your own people, that has been a gift because you and George are not Fabian and Gideon. And I _do_ worry. This-this business you want to start. Being an entrepreneur is so risky, but a _joke shop_? Is there really a need for that?"

"Mum, dark time are coming, why wouldn't there be a need for a joke shop?"

Molly sat back, regarding her son for a moment. In all of his boastings and arguments, she had never heard Fred admit that the coming war was going to be any less than a grand adventure. There was a speck of truth in the second part of his statement as well. They would need levity, in fact it would be a scarce commodity in the months and years to come.

"Where will the money come from?" Molly pressed. "Your dad and I won't be able to help you out."

Fred's knuckles went white around his mug. "Ah, don't worry about that, Mum, George and I will manage."

He was hiding something. She knew it just like she knew the sky was blue. Molly began to puff up.

"Fredrick Gideon—"

"Just-just trust us, Mum. George and I, we have a plan, a legal one!"

The look on his face was earnest pleading. He was asking for her trust, but also for her confidence. Molly wanted to give her son what he wanted, and it pained her that she had reservations. She could trust him if he said that their plans were lawful, but it was hard to find the confidence. A joke shop was just so frivolous, and there was already Zonko's. She didn't want to see their dreams dashed, but then what was the alternative? To play it safe so they never knew hurt? That wasn't a well-lived life. Certainly that wasn't what she, Molly, had done by running off to marry Arthur at the first chance she got.

Deflating, Molly clenched her hands. "I'll try."

"Well, see, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

He had no idea. It was the hardest thing in the world.

"But Fred, the war, the Order…"

"Don't ask us not to join."

Molly sighed. "Just don't be in a hurry."

He looked ready to protest, but Molly held her hand up to stop his arguments before they formed.

"There will be plenty of time to fight D-death Eaters." She worried her nail, staring at the table. "Finish school, at least, before joining the Order."

"Would it really be the worst thing to have a whole hoard of hero sons?"

"Yes. Fabian and Gideon are heroes. Moody is a hero. I think having hero sons sounds like the worst thing that could possibly happen."

"So, what? You would rather have a bunch of-of cowards, like Percy?"

"Fred," Molly admonished sharply, and he squirmed under her stern glare. "Percy might be misguided, but he's no coward. None of you are. And, might I remind you, Percy is your brother no matter what he's done… or said."

"The prat has some way of showing it," Fred muttered.

Molly knew she should rebuke Fred again, but the truth was she was a bit angry with Percy herself. Of all her children, Percy might actually be the most prideful and stubborn and it wasn't going to serve him well. A fall was coming for her third son, one worse than he'd already experienced with that Barty Crouch business. Molly wasn't going to be able to cushion Percy's drop, and not because she didn't want to. He'd chosen his own path and he would have to steer his own way back home—not that she liked it one bit.

"Now then," Molly continued. "We aren't talking about Percy, we are talking about you and George, and your lamentable habit of rushing into trouble."

"Trouble is best met head on."

Molly sighed. She got up, went around the table, and ran a hand through Fred's hair. She did it again, then bent to kiss his cheek. "Not always, dear."

"Well, it can't be ignored."

No, it couldn't, raising six sons and Ginny had long since taught Molly that. She also knew the value of picking her battles, but _he_ wasn't going to allow that. You-Know-Who was going to bring the battle to them whether they were willing or not, so best to be prepared she supposed. That wasn't going to ease Molly's nightmares any time in the near future.

"What am I going to do with you?" Molly complained.

It was a common refrain in the seventeen years of Fred and George's lives. Fred and George turned Ron's teddy into a spider. Fred and George glued all of Percy's books shut. Fred and George were up the tree and wouldn't come down. Fred and George. What _was_ she to do with them, but Molly knew.

Kissing his cheek, Molly smiled softly, "I love you."

"Love you, too," Fred mumbled, his face turning scarlet.

"Oi!"

Molly looked up to see George standing in the doorway. His eyes were half shut and he was stretching his arms above his head. She wasn't surprised to see him. Fred couldn't be alone long before George would show up.

"Don't be long, boys," Molly said.

She walked to the door, reaching up to pat George's cheek.

"Sorry for being a prat earlier," he said without hesitation.

"I know, dear. Don't stay up too late, we have a lot to do tomorrow."

George went to join his twin at the table. Two identical ginger heads bent together, conspiring to do who-knew-what. Molly watched them from the shadows for a moment. It was rare to have a moment alone with any of her children, there being so many of them, but even rarer to catch Fred or George alone. She treasured those moments, she just wished she could say that she had changed Fred's mind about the joke shop or the Order, but she knew she hadn't. So, why didn't she feel regret? Well, it was the age-old conundrum of mothers everywhere. Molly might want her children safe, but she was proud of each of them for doing what they felt was right, for following their dreams wherever they might lead. That's what she raised them to do, after all, so she had no one to blame but herself.

Trudging back to the staircase, Molly resigned herself to her nightmares. War was coming and she would meet it head-on. Meanwhile, she would pray that her dreams remained just that.

* * *

A/N2: I want to recognize Keeptheotherone. I borrowed the idea of Bill telling the twins off after their outburst in _Order of the Phoenix_ from her collection of one-shots and outtakes, One Big Happy Weasley Family.


	3. Chapter 3: A Little Broken

A Little Broken

Ginny peered around the corner to see her mother bent over one of the hospital beds along with a silvery head that was becoming increasingly familiar. Averting her eyes, Ginny tiptoed through the door of the Hospital Wing, skirted along the wall, and scurried across the floor to visit with the other patient.

"Hey, Gin!"

Ginny held a finger to her lips. "Hey, Nev. How're ya' doing?"

"Better than you brother."

Ginny resisted the urge to look behind her. She knew the scene that would play out, it hadn't changed much in two days. Her mother and Phlegm tenderly nursing Bill who was laid on crisp bed sheets, half his body wrapped in white gauze, a blanket pulled nearly to his chin, his red hair spread out in a halo around his head just like…

"So when do you get sprung from this place?" Ginny asked, sitting on the stool by Neville's bed.

"Leg's all healed so I expect to get my walking papers any moment." Neville laughed a little, but Ginny's expression registered nothing. "That was a pun, you're supposed to laugh."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Puns are the worst."

"Yeah."

They both smiled. Small smiles, the kind that didn't reach much further than the teeth. It had only been a few days since they fought a battle, right there in Hogwarts. Neville had been hurt, Dumbledore killed by that slimy git Snape, and Bill had been injured. It seemed the whole world was turned upside down, yet the sun shone.

"Why don't you go visit your brother," Neville said.

"I came to visit you," Ginny replied primly.

Neville lifted his eyebrows, but didn't comment, much to Ginny's relief. In all her life, Ginny had never found a better, easier friend than Neville Longbottom. Eventually, she had made friends with the girls in her dormitory, but those were the kind of friendships based on giggling over boys and trading class notes. There was Luna, of course. They had been friends since they were little, but Luna wasn't easy and anybody who thought so was daft. Luna Lovegood had a way of speaking the truth at the most inopportune moments. Most people assumed she was guileless and a bit dotty, but Ginny knew better. Then there was Hermione, who was really Ron's friend. Neville, on the other hand, was Ginny's friend.

It had all started with the Yule Ball. They had been acquainted beforehand, but true friendship had grown from that night. For a long time, Ginny hadn't understood what made Neville so comfortable to be around. A lot of the time, they never even spoke to each other, they just existed in the same space. Then, last year, Ginny learned about Neville's parents, and finally she understood.

Neville Longbottom was a little broken on the inside, just like she was.

" _Why have you been avoiding me?"_

 _Ginny stood over Neville's spot in the greenhouse, hands on her hips, waiting for an answer. The Christmas holiday had been over for a week and Ginny hadn't seen so much as a hair on Neville's head since they returned. He could try to hide from her, but it didn't matter. Ginny knew exactly where to find the great, wallowing git. If there was one place Neville felt comfortable it was amongst his plants._

" _Wh-what?" he stammered, looking beyond Ginny's shoulder. "I-I'm not avoid—"_

 _Ginny scoffed. "Then where have you been this last week?"_

" _Cl-class?"_

 _Ginny regarded her friend for a long time before sitting next to him at the table. She pulled a Fanged Geranium over to her and began pruning it. Beside her, Neville continued his ministrations on his plant. After a moment, the old easiness returned. Sometimes Ginny thought that her skill at Herbology was due entirely to long hours spent pruning plants with Neville._

" _Ginny," he said after some time. "I'm not ashamed of them."_

" _I know."_

 _Neville looked at her. "They were brave, but… I don't want your pity."_

" _Do you know what happened in the Chamber of Secrets, Neville?"_

 _He shook his head._

" _But you suspect, don't you?"_

 _Slowly, Neville nodded his head, then returned to his plant. "It was you, wasn't it? I mean, I'm rubbish at magic and theory, but…"_

" _How could a memory gain enough power to come alive if it wasn't feeding on a soul? Yeah, Neville, it was me. I was stupid and scared and weak and-and—"_

" _You're not." Neville looked at her, his eyes wide. "You have to be so strong to survive something like that, just not in ways other people expect."_

 _Ginny hugged Neville. It was an easy, natural gesture for her, who had been hugged her whole life, but not for Neville. She could feel the tension in his pudgy body, the stiffness of his arms as they hovered inches from her body, unsure what to do. Tightening her arms around him, Ginny held on until Neville hugged her back._

" _Er, Ginny, let's go back to the castle, it's getting late."_

 _Ginny pulled away, her eyes blazing as they bore into Neville's. "You're strong, too. Never think otherwise."_

" _O-okay, but the castle."_

The Neville Longbottom who sat in the hospital bed before Ginny was the same bumbling boy and yet he wasn't. In a year and half, Neville had shed a layer of baby fat, grew three inches, and gained a world of confidence. He'd fought in two battles, same as Ginny. He could even hug without getting all flustered. Well, sometimes.

"I've been taking care of your Mimbulus Mimbletonia," Ginny informed him. "Or, well, I've been trying. It squirted Stinksap all over Lavender Brown in the common room, completely by accident—"

"Sure it was," Neville replied with a shake of his head.

"It was!"

"And you haven't been wanting to prank Lavender all year?"

"Hey, I have an entire assortment of pranking items at my disposal if I wanted to get back at that slag for being completely mental over _Ron_ of all people."

Neville opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by a commotion a few rows over. Craning around, Ginny saw Phlegm whirl away from Bill's bed and march away in a flurry of hair and skirts, fists clenched. Mum sat placidly by Bill's side, watching the Veela girl go. Ginny scowled.

"What do you think all that's about?"

"I don't know," Neville replied honestly.

"Do you suppose she got tired of the act and Mum finally chased her off?"

Neville pinned Ginny with a hard, knowing look. "What act? I know you don't like Fleur Delacour, but…"

"Well, who could? She's so haughty, and all she does is complain. I don't know what Bill sees in her."

"Listen, Ginny, I think you got it all wrong."

Ginny pursed her lips. "Have you fallen under her spell, too? You know that's just her Veela magic that's making you all hot and bothered, right? She's really a-a hag!"

Neville covered Ginny's fist. "I know you don't want to hear this—"

"Then don't say it!"

"What kind of friend would I be if I didn't tell you what you needed to hear?"

"The best kind?"

"She loves him, Ginny. Since I've been here, that's the first time I've seen her leave your brother's side. I've seen her change his bandages and apply his potions. I-I know you won't want to know this, but the other night… Bill woke up screaming in pain."

Ginny turned her back on Neville. His words hit her in the chest with more force than a blasting spell. Bill was in pain? Of course, she knew that he was, but hearing the details like that made Ginny's hands shake, it made her stomach seize up. She heard Neville moving on the bed behind her, then he was sitting beside her.

"I'm sorry, Ginny, I am, but I think you should know. Fleur, she was sleeping in the cot beside Bill, she screamed down the whole Hospital Wing for Madam Pomfrey to come help your brother. When Madam Pomfrey finally came, Fleur held Bill and sang to him while he got his potions. He calmed right down."

Ginny slid a glance at Neville. "Is she a terrible singer?"

"No," Neville replied and laughed. "She sings like an angel."

"Of course she does." Ginny rolled her eyes.

"She really loves him, you know, for better or for worse. It-it's how I like to imagine my parents."

The last part was said softly. Ginny closed her eyes against the emotion that was in Neville's voice, the traitorous feelings welling up in her own chest. She didn't want to hear about Phlegm loving Bill. She, Ginny, loved Bill, she would do all of those things for him. And really, who would turn away from a man in pain? It didn't mean that they had some sort of forever love, it just meant that Phlegm wasn't a complete bitch. Close to it, of course, but Ginny supposed even Draco Malfoy had a redeeming quality. Though, she had a hard time imagining what it could be.

Abruptly, Ginny hugged Neville, his arms crushing around her. If anybody asked, she would tell them that Neville needed comfort, but really Ginny was hiding her tears. Neville probably knew they were there, but she didn't want him to see them.

"Go see your brother," Neville said softly into Ginny's ear. "I'll meet you up in the common room later."

When Ginny was sure the tears would not fall, she pulled away. "All right. See you later."

Taking a deep breath, Ginny turned to face her brother's bed. It was a row above and three beds down. Mum sat next to Bill with her knitting, winding yarn around the needles. Squaring her shoulders, Ginny trudged over, placing a hand on Mum's shoulder.

"Oh, Ginny dear," Mum exclaimed. "Do sit with me awhile."

Ginny hadn't seen Mum since Christmas. She had looked worn then, but it seemed as though she had aged ten years since January. There was more gray in Mum's hair, which was frazzled and untidy, wrinkles pinched around her mouth and eyes, and she had lost weight. It wasn't a noticeable amount, but when Mum pulled Ginny into a hug, there was a layer of comfort missing.

"Where did Phlegm go?" Ginny asked, not keeping the venom out of her voice, or the spite out of her eyes.

"Her name is Fleur and you have to start calling her that," Mum said. She didn't yell, but there was steel to her words. "She's going to be family soon."

"You're singing a new tune," Ginny snapped.

Mum gave her a look. "We were wrong about Fleur, dear, it's past time we admit it."

"All because she thinks Bill's looks don't matter?" Ginny flicked her hair over her shoulder and mimicked, " _I am good looking enough for zee both of us, I zink."_

"Ginny." There was more steel in Mum's voice and her color was rising. "I do not want your brother to hear you making fun of his bride. That girl loves Bill, and we should have trusted him to make a good choice—he always does."

"Hmph."

Ginny crossed her arms, and turned away. Mum's mind was made up, and Ginny knew there was no point in arguing when Mum was like this. For nearly a year, Mum had been waging a silent campaign against Bill's Veela fiancé, but one bedside outburst and all was forgiven. Well, Ginny hadn't forgotten what a snob the girl was. Or the way she pranced around like she was better than everybody else. And for as long as she lived, Ginny would never forget how disgusting it was to watch Bill and Phlegm _feed_ each other and giggle at the dinner table.

"You don't have to like her," Mum said. "Do you really think I like Auntie Muriel? The woman is a dragon. But I show her respect and kindness because she's _family_ , Ginevra, and I expect you to do the same with Fleur. Goodness knows she's done more to earn it than Auntie Muriel ever has."

"Why?" Ginny turned on her mother, eyes narrowed. "Just because she publicly declared her love for Bill when you expected her to run?"

Mum set the knitting needles aside, and took Ginny's clenched hands into her own. "It was more than that, Ginny, you know it was. Look at your brother."

Ginny didn't look, she stared at her mother's hands instead. She didn't need to look, she'd already seen Bill the night it happened. Torn, gouged, bloody. Ginny closed her eyes, but snapped them open again. The only thing she saw behind her eyelids was the battle, the corridor to the Astronomy Tower, the blood.

"So, Bill's going to be scarred," she muttered.

It was more than scarred though, and Ginny knew it. Half his lip was hanging off. Madam Pomfrey and three Healers from St. Mungo's had used every spell they knew to fix Bill's mouth, and none of them had worked. The twins told Ginny that Dad was arguing for Muggle stitches, but nobody had agreed to such extremes yet.

"It's more than his looks, Ginny," Mum said gently. "Bill's going to be changed."

"Lupin said he wouldn't be a werewolf!"

"I hope he's correct, but we won't know that for a few more weeks, will we?" Mum took a deep breath, her hands going tight around Ginny's. "Even if he isn't a werewolf, even if he shows only the barest of wolfish tendencies, he's going to be changed."

"It's Bill! Do you think he'd let some…" Ginny screwed up her face trying to spit out the nastiest word she could think of for that monster who attacked Bill. "Some-some bloody, nasty— _git_ like Greyback—"

Ginny's chest was heaving. She looked up at the ceiling, blinking at the beams and arches. It felt as though she had just done fifty wind sprints on the pitch. Her heart was beating so fast, and her eyes burned. Maybe she needed Madam Pomfrey?

Mum placed her hands on Ginny's cheeks. "Bill was attacked, he survived physical trauma. That leaves little rips in your soul. Even if they scar over, he'll never be exactly who he was before. Just like you aren't the same after the Chamber of Secrets."

The words were so gentle, but Ginny flinched. The burning in her eyes were tears, Ginny couldn't deny it any longer. She stared into the kindness of her mother's face, feeling as though a steel band was wrapped around her chest.

"You think I'm broken?" Ginny meant her words to come out defiant, but it sounded more like a wimper.

"No," Mum whispered. "You are the strongest person I know, Ginny."

"How can you say that? I let him shred my insides apart, I let him use me!"

"And you fought him, all by yourself, and just a little girl. Oh, Ginny."

"I wasn't strong enough."

"You were as strong as you needed to be, and now look at you."

Look at her? That was something Ginny didn't like doing very much. Every morning, she put on a cloak of toughness, and sometimes it felt as though it was more than a façade. The bravery, the brashness, the confidence felt like _her._ Other days she felt like a quivering mess inside a brittle shell, and she just hoped nobody noticed.

"You might be vulnerable," Mum said, "but there is a core of steel in your center, Ginny. Never forget that."

"You-you think so?" The words were so tiny they were nearly lost in the vastness of the Hospital Wing.

Mum's arms went around Ginny, stronger than an iron beam. "I know so."

Sobs broke out of Ginny's chest. She buried her head in her Mum's shoulder and cried for the child she was, the battles she fought, and for her brother. It came out of her in a four-year storm of grief that her mum absorbed. Desperately, Ginny wanted to be brave like her brothers, her parents, her dead uncles, and Harry. She wanted to face the Death Eaters with righteousness, but really she wished she never had to fight this blasted war. She wished Bill hadn't felt like he needed to come home from Egypt and met that Veela tart. She wished she could be a teenage girl who didn't know what it was like to be used by a tyrant bent on destroying everything she loved. That didn't make her feel strong.

"I-I thought he was dead, Mum," Ginny sobbed. "Bill. I thought he was dead. One moment he was fighting some Death Eater and looking like he was having the time of his life. Then I went off with Ron, following some other bad guy on a merry goose chase. When we got back to the corridor…" Ginny pulled away and wiped her eyes. "Bill was lying in a pool of blood. I-I thought…"

"But he wasn't," Mum said, taking Ginny's hand.

"I wanted to help him, to go to him, but there were spells and hexes everywhere. We were outnumbered and on the run and-and…"

"Shh, shh," Mum hushed and pulled Ginny against her shoulder. "It's over now and you all survived, thank Merlin."

Leaning against her mother, Ginny looked at Bill asleep on the cot. The bandages covered most of his face, but she could still make out angry red marks ripping his skin. Those weren't the only ones, she knew, but the five slashes across Bill's face would be the ones people would see. They would turn from him in disgust or stare at him in pity. None of them would see the handsome, funny, easygoing brother that Ginny grew up with, that she idolized. They wouldn't see the smile that made her feel like a princess, or the way his watchful eyes followed her so that she always felt protected when he was around. When she thought he was dead, something had wrenched in Ginny's chest that was so painful that she hoped she never felt it again.

"So," Ginny said after some time, her voice came out rusty. "How'd you make… Fleur go away."

Mum sighed. "She's not gone further than the toilet since that night. I told her if she didn't go home to eat and get some sleep, I would have her banned from Bill's bedside. I'm his mother after all, and she's not his wife yet."

"Mum," Ginny laughed. "You're so bad."

"Yes, well, I think she was a bit cross with me, but it was for her own good. I can't have another one in the Hospital Wing, can I? And she'll be back soon enough." Mum sighed. "They are planning to set the… the stiches before dinner."

"What happens next, Mummy?"

"I don't know," Mum replied, staring into the distance. "But we have a wedding to plan and I'll be needing your help."

Mum prattled on about dresses, cakes, and flowers, but Ginny let the words wash over her. Nothing from this moment on was certain, except that Harry was going to leave. He'd go wherever he needed to fight Voldemort, and Ron and Hermione would follow. As for the rest of the Weasleys, they would be standing firm until the fight came to them too, Ginny included. Until then, there would be a wedding.


	4. Chapter 4: Just Right

Just Right

Molly checked her gold watch. One hour to go, and still so much to do. She glanced out the kitchen window where she could see the marquee hovering in the garden, ready for the ceremony. The guests would start showing up soon, and each of them would have to be escorted through the wards by a family member. Which reminded her, where were Fred and George? Was Ron dressed yet? Honestly, those boys acted as if weddings just put themselves on.

Catching a glimpse of periwinkle, Molly called out, "Hermione dear!"

The bushy haired girl appeared in the kitchen looking lovely in the soft blue color. "Yes, Mrs. Weasley," she said, adjusting her beaded bag on her shoulder.

"Would you make sure everybody has their boutonniere please?"

"Oh, um, of course."

"Thank you, dear, that's such a help."

Hermione picked up the tray of white rosebuds wrapped with a twining ivy leaf. Fleur's mother had done all of the flowers, even bringing an array of magically preserved cuttings from her own garden. The marquee was bursting with white roses, gladiolas, lilies, ranunculus, and gardenias. The bridal bouquet was a delicate creation that Apolline had shared only with Molly.

" _You see," said the willowy woman, "each flower has a special meaning,_ non? _Zee hydrangea means deep emotion, as my Fleur feels for your William. And lily of the valley, meaning zee return of happiness, which is my wish for zem. The sweet william, for William, who is_ tres _gallant. And zis is Fleur, zee stock. A plain name zat means everlasting beauty."_

In a short time Apolline would present the thoughtful bouquet to her daughter. Molly had not seen more than a glimpse of the bride as she dashed from the bathroom to Molly's own room that she had given over to the bridal party for the day. Not that it mattered, Molly didn't need to see Fleur to know she would make a beautiful bride.

As Hermione was about to disappear with the tray of flowers, Molly called out to her again. The girl turned, and Molly surveyed the flowers before her. One was much like the next, but finally Molly decided on one that seemed a little more perfect than its companions.

"Let me take this one to Bill," she said and smiled at Hermione.

Going up the stairs, Molly stopped at Ginny's door and tapped on it. "Are you dressed, dear?"

The door opened to reveal her scowling daughter in an exquisite gold creation. Ginny's hair tumbled down her back, half curled, and her feet were bare, but she was ever so lovely. Molly beamed at Ginny, her heart caught in her throat.

"Oh, my darling."

"Stuff it, Mum, this blasted frock itches," Ginny grumbled.

"But Ginny, you're beautiful."

"It _itches_."

Molly waved her hand. "Here now, do you need help with your hair?"

"No, I've got."

"Well, don't be long."

On the next floor, Molly stopped to check on the twins, but their room was empty. Not that this gave Molly any sort of relief. Not knowing where Fred and George were was always the worse alternative. Just because they weren't in their room didn't mean that they were dressed. They were probably off trying to knick a bit of cake, but they would get a nasty surprise if that were the case.

The next flight of stairs brought Molly to where Bill and Charlie's room was located. As soon as Molly made the landing, she could hear the low rumble of masculine laughter. She stopped, relishing the sound that used to be the everyday harmony of her home, but was now too often absent. She thought the silence might be more bearable if her children were just off to school or work, but that hadn't been the case for some years now. Even when they were all home, the laughter wasn't as free or as often as it ought to be.

The door to the boys's bedroom was ajar, giving Molly a moment to enjoy the sight of her two eldest sons under her roof. Charlie had his back to her, still in his waistcoat with shirtsleeves rolled up to bare tanned and burned arms. His hair was looking shaggy again, and she knew he'd run off to regrow it after the haircut she gave him. Molly supposed there was no time to fix it, and that he would do what he wanted no matter what.

Bill leaned against his windowsill, his long legs stretched out before him, already dressed in his finest robes. He resisted all of Molly's attempts to get him to cut his hair—she'd found no ally in Fleur on that front—but at least he kept it in a tidy ponytail. Molly's breath hitched in her throat when she gazed upon his scarred flesh. It had been a month, but she still wasn't accustomed to Bill's new appearance. She still expected to see that handsome face and the winning smile, but they were both gone now. It shouldn't matter, of course, and it didn't. But what Molly wouldn't give to have her boy back.

That night, when Minerva McGonagall's cat Patronus had called them to Hogwarts, had been one of the worst of Molly's life. _Come quick, it's Bill._ She hadn't known if her eldest son was alive or dead, but some calamity had befallen him, and in Hogwarts. The very place where he should have been safest, where her youngest children were supposed to be safe. It had been Arthur who had thought to retrieve Fleur, it never even crossed Molly's mind. All she wanted to do was get to Bill as fast as she could, and that girl was just in the way as always.

How wrong Molly had been, she could see that now.

That had been June 30, and here they were on August 1. The wedding was going ahead as scheduled, despite Molly's arguments to the contrary. Bill was still recovering from his injuries, he was still learning about his new wolfish tendencies (though thankfully he was not a werewolf), he was still grappling with what had happened to him, surely it made more sense to delay the wedding. They could marry in six months, a lovely winter wedding during the holidays. But of course, with all the haste of youth, Bill and Fleur had pressed on. They'd even fought in a battle not a week ago, something else Molly had argued against.

Then again, she supposed that both Bill and Fleur had something to prove. Her son had been projecting his good health and fine spirits rather forcefully over the last month, but Molly knew better. All she had to do was count the number of nights he'd elected to turn in by nine o'clock to know the truth of it. Bill was nothing if not a night owl. Fleur still had to prove that she loved Bill no matter what and that, Molly knew, was her own fault. She had doubted the girl, and her opinion had carried weight with the rest of the family.

Well, Molly couldn't wrap her grown son in flannel, nor could she mend his injuries, but she could give him the wedding he deserved. She'd thrown herself into the final details of the nuptials, preparing puddings and organizing table charts. The Burrow had to be spotless for the influx of guests, including the Delacours who were much more gracious than Molly would have expected. She'd even managed to trundle down to Ottery St. Catchpole to buy Fleur a lovely (and dearly expensive) tea set in addition to the crockery she had planned to gift the couple. It had been a sort of peace offering, Molly supposed.

Putting an end to her wool gathering, Molly pulled herself up to her full height and knocked on the door. Bill's blue eyes flickered to her, sparkling with delight. Charlie turned, his cheeks growing rosy, and he ran a hand threw his hair sheepishly.

"I know what you did, Charles," Molly chastised, shaking her finger. "Would it hurt you to look presentable for your brother's wedding? You are the best man after all."

"I'm the one with the roguish good looks now, Mum," he said with that devil-a-bit smile. "I've got to look the part."

"Who needs good looks when you're about to marry the most beautiful woman in the world?" Bill shot back, one corner of his mouth tugging into a grin.

"Boys!" Molly smacked Charlie on the arm.

"Mum, if I can't find humor in looking like something the wolf dragged in, then what's the point?"

Molly felt her face go hot as she glowered at her eldest son. More than once he'd tried to poke fun at what had happened to him, but Molly simply wasn't having it. What was funny about having cursed wounds from a werewolf Molly would never understand.

"Charlie," she said, still looking at Bill. "Hermione has your boutonniere, do be a dear and go find her."

"I think your trying to get rid of me," Charlie complained good-naturedly.

"That's because I am," Molly replied.

"Oi, and here I thought you missed me."

"Of course I did, but we'll talk later. I want to know if you have met any likely women up on that dragon reserve of yours, but for now, run along. And be nice. Hermione's not the kind of girl who's used to unrepentant flirts like you."

Charlie clutched his chest with both hands. "You wound me!"

Molly lifted her eyebrows expectantly. Charlie chuckled, kissed her cheek and was gone.

"Now then," Molly said turning to Bill. "I have yours." She held up the boutonniere for emphasis.

"You know he's likely to hide from you for the rest of his trip home after all that chatter about likely women."

Bill stood, straightening his robes.

"Oh, don't worry about that, I know just how to handle Charlie."

Molly smoothed his lapel. He was so tall, but Bill never went through that gangly phase like Percy and Ron. He'd gone from being a handsome little boy to being a handsome young man in the cast of a wand. Girls had been mad for him, of course, and Molly reckoned that continued when he went off to Egypt. Bill was ever independent and resourceful. He had a good head on his shoulders, besides being quite bright. In retrospect, Molly couldn't understand why Fleur had threatened her so.

She arranged the rose on his chest just so before using a Temporary Sticking Charm on it. Stepping back, she surveyed her handiwork and smiled. Perfect.

"Have you see Fleur?" Bill asked, leaning against the windowsill again.

Molly shook her head. "She's been locked up in my room all day with her mother and sister."

"Do you still harbor reservations?"

"Would it matter if I did?"

Bill grinned. Only the one side curved into a smile, the other side immobile, but his eyes flashed in a mischievous manner. "Not in the slightest, but it would be nice if you actually liked my wife."

"Well, consider that my wedding gift to you," Molly replied tartly.

Bill chuckled. "And all it took was one werewolf mauling."

"Bill—"

"All right, sorry." Bill shrugged. "I've heard about Fleur's outburst at my bedside from a number of people, but not you."

For a long moment, mother and son stared at one another. Molly was reminded once again that her son was an adult. He would never disrespect her, but Molly knew Bill was angry about the way she treated Fleur over the last year, and even more so for what she allowed Ginny to get away with. What was Molly to say? That it was never easy to let Bill go? Well, it wasn't. He was her first—the first to learn Father Christmas wasn't real, the first to go off to Hogwarts, the first to leave the nest, and yes, the first to marry. All of those rights of passage that Bill was so eager to meet were stumbling blocks for Molly that she never knew how to negotiate until it was Charlie's turn.

Someday, Charlie would bring home a girl he was mad about and Molly would graciously accept her into the family in a way she had not with Fleur. It wasn't fair, but there it was all the same. All Molly could do now was try to make a better job of it from here, and she supposed that started by apologizing to Bill.

"You know what she said," Molly began, folding her hands before her. "About your scars showing that you were brave."

Molly looked Bill fully in the face.

"It's not easy to get used to," he said, and motioned to his face.

What to say to that? Lie, and dismiss his worries? Tell the truth and affirm them?

"I'm getting there," Molly allowed.

"That makes one of us."

Molly took Bill's hands, the right bore scratches, but the left was still bandaged. "It wasn't what Fleur said, or even her protectiveness of you that made an impression on me."

"Then what was it?"

"Her fierceness," Molly said without hesitation. "I knew this was a girl who loved you enough to die for you, just as I would."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Those words should have been said lightly—a jest to deflect the oppression of emotion. After all, wasn't the thought of dying for another the height of melodrama? Yet, beyond this one sunshiny day, their world held darkness and uncertainty. Even with a wedding to put on, Molly could sense the uneasiness in every wizard she met as they awaited You-Know-Who's next move. Dumbledore was dead, witches and wizards disappeared without a trace, and You-Know-Who had only shown his face in pursuit of a boy who had only become of age the previous day.

"You made a good choice, love," Molly said softly, gazing up at her son. "Fleur is-is a strong young woman, and so terribly clever. She'll make a good mate for you."

His eyes skittered away shyly. "I don't think there was any choice in the matter."

"Well." Molly smiled softly, fondly. "I do know how that feels."

With her wand, Molly tapped the rosebud on Bill's chest and watched it unfurl.

"There now, that's just right."


	5. Chapter 5: Happy April Fool's Day

A/N: This chapter is the one that inspired this project. It's actually an outtake from chapter two of _George and Angelina: Finding Balance_. If you haven't already read it, don't worry I did my best to make this stand alone. Also, Molly references her own break down, if your curious about that, check out _The Year of the Weasley Scarves._ Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: The characters and world belong to JK Rowling.

* * *

Happy April Fool's Day

"Are you ready?"

George drug a hand down his face, then looked up at Angelina. The tattoo had only taken a moment, not nearly as long as George had been hoping truthfully. He'd been looking forward to the pain of a Muggle tattoo, having Fred's name seared into his skin. Instead, George's damn arm went to sleep. As quickly as the session was over, George had needed nearly twice as much time to get his head together after.

Some way to spend his twenty-first birthday.

"Yeah," George said huskily.

"The tattoo artist said you need to keep your arm bandaged for at least four hours," Angelina said. She'd been busy taking care of all the details while George had gone to pieces. Sometimes, he didn't know what he'd do without Angelina.

"Really?" George pushed out of the chair and walked to her.

She narrowed her eyes. "Something like that."

"Alright, let's go then."

"Hey." Angelina placed a hand on George's arm, effectively halting him, then whispered, "I'll Apparate us back to Diagon Alley."

It never occurred to George to argue, and he could have—he was damned good at Apparition. He'd brought the two of them to this blighted section of Muggle London, but he knew he wasn't in any shape to do the return trip. Was there ever any question that this would be a bloody awful day?

A quick trip from one grimy alley to another, then George was racing up the rickety stairs to his flat above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He threw his coat in the direction of his sofa and dashed into the loo. Yanking up the sleeve of his black t-shirt, he saw the great, white, rectangular bandage that the artist had slapped on his arm with something like Spello-tape. George dug at the corner until he pried it up and gave it a good yank.

"Shite!" That stung. "Bloody hell!"

George fanned his arm with his hand as if that would make the sting go away. Why hadn't anyone told him it hurt to take off a Muggle bandage? Merlin's fat arse, did he have any skin left?

"You just couldn't wait, could you?"

Angelina appeared in the doorway, that damn eyebrow of hers mocking him.

"I-I just wanted to see it," George admitted.

Taking out her wand, Angelina sucked away the bits of blood and other miscellaneous bodily fluids seeping out of his new tattoo. George watched her face as she cast a cooling charm to numb the pain, and healed his skin. Her brown eyes were trained on his arm, and she was so near he could smell her perfume.

"There," she said, and stepped back.

George looked into the mirror, but all he could see was 'DERF'. On any other day, George would have thought that was hilarious. How had he never noticed that Fred's name spelled Derf in reverse? Twenty years of making Derf jokes lost. Today, however, George couldn't find the energy to spare more than a small smirk.

"Let me," Angelina said, and pointed her wand at the mirror. Suddenly George could read the name properly.

'Fred', just as if the man himself had written it across his twin's skin.

"Cheers," George muttered.

"Any time." Angelina squeezed in behind him so that he could see her face peering over his shoulder in the mirror. She propped her chin there, her hands lightly on his ribs, her breasts brushing against his back. "It's really well done."

"Yeah."

What else was there to say? Fred would have thought it was a tepid choice at best. Where was the hilarity in simply inking Fred's name onto George's arm? There was no doubt in his mind that Fred would have preferred a much more ostentatious tribute, but this felt right. After all, how many of their pranks would have been successful if Fred had been left to his own devices?

"Can I have a moment?" George said.

"Oh." Angelina stepped away. "Are you sure? I don't mind staying if—I mean, I've seen you cry before."

Mirror George's ear turned red. Dammit. He hated blushing.

"Er, cheers, but I've got to piss."

Now Angelina blushed. "Oh! I'll just wait in the lounge, yeah?"

It was only half a lie. George did need to piss, but he also wanted to be alone. These last weeks in the lead up to his birthday, he'd become rather dependent on Angelina's presence. She showed up after training looking like a million galleons, made him a little dinner, something better than baked beans on toast anyway, and just kept him company. He had to admit it was a damn sight better than the drinking and screwing he had been doing. Still, maybe he needed a quiet moment with his twin on this day, their birthday.

"Well, Fred," he started, and closed his eyes. It always felt bloody stupid to speak aloud when the only voice that responded was in his own effing head.

 _Get on with it. You're making a real cake out of yourself on our birthday of all days._

"Oi! At least I did something that will to properly piss off Mum. I got a tattoo."

 _Yeah, bet you're too big of a pussy to show her._

"Even memory Fred is a prick. Or should I say Derf?"

 _Laughter._

George squeezed his eyes tighter. The laughter was the hardest part. He could picture his twin perfectly, he could hear the voice, imagine the terrible and funny things the wanker would have said. The laughter hurt. George heard it in monotone when it should have been in stereo, but he could never find it in himself to match his laugh with the memory of Fred's.

"Well, I gotta go," George said. "Got a girl here, on my birthday."

 _Yeah, Angelina. Hasn't even offered a pity fu—_

"Watch it," George warned.

 _Ah, you always fancied her, numb nuts._

"Don't make me regret spending time with you on our birthday."

 _Me? This isn't me. It's all in your head._

George opened his eyes. Head Fred was no more sentimental than the real article had been. Besides, talking to Fred always made George feel a bit mental. In all honesty, late at night, he sometimes feared for his sanity.

Taking a deep breath, George finished in the toilet and walked out of the loo. Angelina was sitting on his sofa, the look in her eyes soft with understanding. Had she heard his one-sided conversation? Probably. He scurried into the kitchen and returned with a bag of crisps.

"There's something else you have to do today," Angelina said when he plopped down beside her.

"Yeah, what's that?" George asked, mouth full.

She cuffed him upside his head. "Manners!"

"Harpy," George muttered and licked salt from his fingers.

"You need to see your mother."

It was on the tip of his tongue to argue. George had told Mum a week ago that he didn't want a birthday party. He'd expected her to cry, but she just sighed and said she understood. That was probably truer than George wanted to think about. In some ways, he thought his mum was the only one who truly understood his pain. Fred was a part of her, after all, just the same as he was a part of George.

With a sigh, George admitted to himself that Angelina was right.

"Thanks for coming with me today," he said.

Angelina looked at him, as if she were expecting him to say something else, then blinked. "Oh, well, that's what friends are for."

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

She nodded slowly. "Sure, if you like. I have training all day, but after, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Angelina looked uncertain for a moment, though George couldn't figure out why. It was like she was waiting for something—what, he hadn't the foggiest. Anyway, he was saved in the end from actually having to ask (and looking like a git in the process) when she stood, and using her wand, Summoned her jacket and purse. Angelina smiled down at George. It wasn't that bloody sad smile everybody else used on him these days when the emotions got the better of him. George liked to think that Angie's smile was just a little fond.

"Happy—" she stopped. The unspoken word hung in the air as thick and oppressive as humidity. "Happy April Fool's Day, Georgie."

George gave her a small smile. "I'll have to do better next year, won't I? Haven't played a single prank all day."

Angelina hugged him, then left without a lot of fuss. That's one of the things he liked about Angie. She didn't make a big to do, she just got on with it. Figuring he shouldn't put off the inevitable any longer than necessary, George grabbed his own jacket—it somehow got hung on a hook by the door, Angelina's doing he reckoned—and Disapparated. It took only a moment and he found himself standing on the edge of the Burrow's lands. The orchard was still leafless and gray, but in a few weeks new buds would appear, and before George knew it, there would be a riot of white and pink blossoms. Smoke curled up from the crooked house's chimneys, the path up to it well worn and familiar. Mum would already have the snow peas and broccoli ready to go into the ground in a week or two.

When George opened the kitchen door, Mum hopped up from the table. Her eyes locked with George's. She'd been crying, but at the sight of her son, she smiled and it reached all the way to those amazing eyes.

"Oh my dear," she said and pressed a fist against her heart. "I didn't know if you would come, but I… I baked cupcakes for you, just in case."

"Chocolate chip with chocolate frosting?"

"Just the way you like it," she affirmed with a nod. "Let me just get your father."

"Wait, Mum." George crossed to his mum and hugged her. She returned his embrace fiercely, a small sob breaking loose. When he pulled away, she smiled and patted his cheek. "Th-there's something I want to show you."

"What is it, George?" Mum asked. There was a wary look on her face, as if she expected trouble, but was trying to keep an open mind.

"Don't be mad, Mum." He took off his jacket and hung it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

"George—"

Pulling his shirtsleeve up, George bared his arm so that Mum could see Fred's name engraved on his skin. Mum gasped, covering her mouth as she stared wide-eyed at the tattoo. It was all George could do to stand still. The yelling would commence any moment, and the upside was that it would be like old times. What was a Weasley twins' birthday without Molly screaming at them?

"Oh, George," Mum whispered. She traced the letters with her fingers. "It's-it's perfect."

"You think so?" George asked.

"I do."

She looked up at him and smiled. The next thing he knew, he was in his mother's arms, sobbing like a child.

"I've been having a hard time, Mum," he said.

"I know, dear."

"I've made an arse of myself, and-and I've done things I'm not proud of. It just hurts so much."

"I know that, too, but you are hardly the only one. I know something about doing things I'm not proud of. It wasn't that many months ago that I had my own breakdown, if you'll remember."

"How am I going to make it through May 2? I barely made it to my damned birthday."

"Together, my love, it's our only choice."

"Molly, I just—" Dad walked into the kitchen carrying the newspaper and came to a halt. "Oh. George, I didn't know you were here, son."

George straightened and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Hi, Dad."

Opening his mouth, then closing it again, Dad simply offered a sad smile, then hugged George.

"I gather I have a cupcake," George said.

"Yes, well, if you can hold off, your brothers are on their way," Dad replied.

"Oh!" Mum straightened her apron.

"I was just coming to tell you, Molly, that Bill Floo-called. He and Percy will be here—Well, here they are."

The back door opened and in came George's first and third brothers. Mum immediately burst into action. She flicked her wand at the hutch and a stack of plates zoomed to the table, silverware marched in pairs, and glasses flew through the air. Mum scurried to the cooling cupboard, but Percy waylaid her, assuring her that it was not necessary to feed them.

"Mum," George complained, "I thought we weren't doing the party thing this year."

"Don't blame Mum," Bill said.

"We just wanted to come visit her on…" Percy started but trailed off.

"Besides," Bill added brightly, "we are stag tonight. We couldn't party without Fleur and Audrey."

George coughed into his hand, which sounded suspiciously like the word 'whipped'.

A dangerous light flared in Bill's blue eyes. He sidled up to George and pitched his voice low, "Did you just call me _whipped_?"

George looked around. Oh shite, what had he just walked himself into?

"As in _pussy whipped_?" Bill whispered. One corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk and he looked over George's head to make sure Percy had Mum occupied. "At least I know what to do with one, little brother."

George flushed bright red.

Bill laughed and slapped him on the back.

The door open and Ron loped in. "Oi, George, never leave the shop on April 1 again. The damn place was bloody mental!"

"Watch your language, Ronald!" Mum said. "Now, boys, I didn't know you were coming. I haven't fixed anything, but there is some leftover roast chicken and carrots and…"

"Mum, we ate with Fleur and Audrey," Bill said.

Percy took Mum by the shoulders and directed her to the table. "Really, Mum, just relax. No need to feed us."

"Speak for yourselves, you bloody, big prats," Ron grumbled. He was standing at the cooling cabinet with a plate of chicken tucked into his arm and stacking a bowl of parsnips on top. "I'm starved. Hardly sat down all day. George, you are going to have to staff double the shop girls next year."

George stood in the middle of the kitchen watching his family mill around him. Dad sat at the head of the table speaking earnestly to Percy. Bill was busy reassuring Mum. Ron walked across the kitchen with an armload of food. It was almost normal.

Once seated, Ron looked up at George. "I almost forgot. This came by owl today, Ginny sent it." He pulled a parchment out of his pocket and handed it to George.

George took the scroll, unfurled it and got spit on. The parchment blew a raspberry at him then broke out into song:

 _"Happy birthday to you,_

 _Happy birthday to you,_

 _You look like a hippogriff_

 _And you smell like one, too!"_

For a moment, George just stared at the parchment. On the inside Ginny had written, "Many happy returns, April Fool." And the next thing he knew, he was laughing. A full belly laugh that had him bent double. His brothers and parents soon joined in, and while George couldn't hear the laugh that harmonized with his, it was still music to his ears. Or ear, as the case might be. There was laughter on his birthday.

"Mum," he said, rerolling the parchment and stowing it in his back pocket, "did you say something about cupcakes?"

Mum hopped up and bustled away. George sat at the table next to Bill, who ruffled his hair. Dad launched into a story about how similar Muggle traditions on April Fool's Day were to wizard ones. George slowly pulled his wand from his pocket, aimed it at Ron's chair and watched with satisfaction as its legs disappeared and Ron crashed to the floor.

"Bloody hell!" Ron roared, his mouth full.

"George Weasley, did you do that?" Mum screeched.

Percy covered his mouth to hide his smile and Bill laughed outright, while Dad merely shook his head. George smirked, rubbing his arm where the tattoo was hid under his sleeve. All was not well on this blasted day, but it was one more stumbling block met and he was still standing. Maybe he'd give that holding-it-together thing another try.


	6. Chapter 6: Ron's First Christmas

Ron's First Christmas

Passing through the gates into a neighborhood of townhomes with tiny gardens and shiny red doors, Molly hurried along the sidewalk, nodding here and there to witches and wizards in expensive-looking robes. The December breeze snatched at Molly's own tweed coat, bringing with it the polluted stench of London. Finally, she found just the home she was looking for, and scurried up the wrought iron steps to 6 Mafalda Drive and rapped the gold knocker against the crimson door.

"Oh, thank goodness you're here!"

Hermione pulled Molly into the tiled entryway made Christmassy by an abundance of greenery and ribbon. The young woman wore black trousers and a silky white shirt that was sporting what looked like smashed carrots on the left shoulder. Her hair was pulled back, but escaping its confines like an overstuffed cushion.

"You said to come right away," Molly said, a bit breathlessly. "Is it Rose? Is it Ron?"

"Oh. Oh no. I mean, yes, it's Ron," Hermione prattled. "But I fear I overstated the matter. It's just—Well, have a look."

Following Hermione into the sitting room, Molly could not say she knew exactly what the issue was. There was a very pretty tree trimmed in red and gold in the corner, and the rest of the room was overflowing with brightly wrapped Christmas gifts. 'Overflowing' was an understatement. More than half the room was covered in boxes and bags, overtaking the chairs and sofa and even the desk.

"Ron's been Christmas shopping," Hermione said darkly.

"I see," Molly replied, though she didn't. "Is this for the entire family? That's why we decided to pull names this year, remember. The number of gifts for the children was becoming overwhelming."

The older grandchildren had been outraged, accustom to getting a gift from every adult in the family. With the addition of Rose and Albus that year, there were twelve grandchildren, six children plus spouses, and Andromeda to buy for, it was becoming too much. Not to mention that the children were getting a tad spoiled with so many presents. The parents had all agreed to pick a name, to simplify things. Not that this rule applied to Molly, of course, she still made a jumper and a pound of fudge for every family member.

"No," Hermione said, and shook her head. "These are the family gifts, including my parents."

Molly looked at the pile of gifts Hermione indicated, stacked on a hall table. No more than a dozen brightly colored boxes sat there. "Then…" She turned a bemused eye to the overflowing room.

"It's all for Rose."

"For… Rose? Ron bought all of this for Rose?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes."

Molly thought maybe she was beginning to understand the problem.

"We… discussed it, but Ron won't listen to me. I asked Bill to speak to him, but Bill took one look at-at _that_ and laughed his head off. I turned to Percy, but Ron laughed at Percy. So—"

"You need me to intervene?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Not at all. I'll just whip up a spot of tea and you go get Ronald."

A few moments later, Molly stood in Hermione's very tidy, but spare kitchen brewing tea when her youngest son loped in. He was wearing an old Cannons jumper and jeans with holes in the knees. Really, Ron lived in this lovely home in this lovely neighborhood, would it kill him to look as if he at least did laundry once in a while?

"Hermione said you needed to speak to me?" Ron said, eyeing Molly quizzically. "Am I in trouble?"

"You're a bit old for that, don't you think?" Molly replied and Levitated the tea tray to the table.

"Um, you gave George a right bollocking last week at Sunday supper."

Molly glared at him. "Honestly, Ronald, you are a father now, would you please watch your language!"

His ears turned red, his shoulders hunching a bit more.

"Have tea with me, dear," Molly said and sat at the small table by the window. She poured two cups of tea, sitting one in front of Ron. "Tell me, are you excited for Rose's first Christmas?"

Ron's face lit up as he gabbled on about all the gifts he had bought for his little girl. All of Molly's sons were doting fathers, of course, but none of them wore it on their sleeve quite like Ron. Perhaps, because the older boys had helped out so much with the younger ones, the small milestones of childhood were less awe-inspiring, or maybe they were just better at masking their emotions, but none of them showed the out and out joy in their children that Ron did. He marveled over every bit of Rose from her tiny toes to her first tooth. She'd be speaking soon, and Molly was sure that Ron would declare his child a genius when that event finally happened.

It was endearing for Molly to watch Ron become such a devoted parent, but not without a spot of worry. Every child deserved to be adored, of course, but not to the point of suffocation. Ron was already showing signs of overprotectiveness. Just the other day he had yelled at Ginny because Jamie took Rose's toy. And oh, the row that ensued when little Lucy threw a stuffed Quaffle that accidently conked Rose on the head and made her cry. It took a lot to stir Percy's temper to the point of shouting, but Ron had managed it. With a mother as tightly wound as Hermione, poor Rose didn't need her father smothering her on top of it.

When Ron stopped extolling the virtues of the latest Baby's First Wand meant to teach correct wand waving from an early age, Molly smiled and sipped her tea.

"And is Rose excited for Christmas?"

"Rose?"

"Yes, the baby for whom you bought all of these miraculous toys. You remember her, don't you?"

Ron narrowed his eyes at his mother. "Of course," he huffed, then shrugged. "I've showed her all the gifts and told her about Father Christmas, but—"

"She doesn't seem to know what it's all about?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Well, she's not even one yet, is she? Maybe next year." Molly looked past Ron towards the sitting room. "Although… what _will_ you buy her for Christmas next year? Or for her birthday next month, for that matter?"

Ron crammed a biscuit in his mouth, and wiped the crumbs with a napkin. "What d'you mean?"

"Just that it would appear you've bought Rose every baby toy at Troopin's Toy Emporium," Molly replied, lifting her eyebrows innocently. "They won't make new ones in time for her birthday. Where do you plan to store all of those toys? Your home is lovely, but it's not that large."

"Oh, you know Hermione." He waved his hand in the direction of the entryway. "She'll just do an Extension charm on Rose's nursery."

"And will Rose still fit into her nursery?"

Ron scowled at Molly. She had to admit, she was having a spot of fun at her youngest son's expense. Taking pity on him, Molly reached out and patted his arm.

"Hermione put you up to this, didn't she?" Ron demanded.

"Yes, I'm afraid she did."

"I suppose you think I'm mental to buy all that for one little baby."

Molly shrugged. "Of course not, but I confess that I don't know what got into you. You never needed some fancy toy wand when you were little, a good stick would do."

Keeping his eyes on his mug, Ron's entire face turned red. The truth of the matter dawned on Molly, causing her heart to stutter painfully in her chest. A nice stick, it would seem, had not been good enough. She reckoned that she was not really surprised. Of all her children, Ron had always been the most sensitive about the family's economic situation. After all, any toy, book, or garment passed through at least two brothers before it made its way into Ron's hands.

This was not the first time Molly had seen one of her sons overcompensate. Percy, who had always felt lost in the shuffle, lavished his daughters with love and attention—probably more than they wanted to be honest. Bill, who had grown up too fast with six younger siblings to look after and a war being fought around him, was keen to shelter his children from the crueler realities of the world. It appeared that Ron was trying to make up for his meager background by giving Rose all the things Arthur and Molly had ben too poor to give Ron.

"Ron… Ronnie," Molly started. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he grunted.

For what indeed? Was she apologizing for not being able to buy him shiny new toys or a decent set of dress robes? It would have been nice to do that for Ron, or any of her children, when he was growing up. There were times when money just didn't stretch far enough, or she made a poor decision that affected her children. Goodness, Ron hadn't even had his own wand when he started Hogwarts. That Molly truly did regret, but otherwise there was always food on the table, clothes on their backs, and laughter to be shared. She had told herself that had more than made up for the lack of material things.

"For not giving you the childhood you wanted," Molly finally said.

"I had a great childhood," Ron said. "There were all those acres to run through, and trees to climb. Fred and George loved to play hide and seek for hours. Well, mostly I hid and they never seeked, but it was fun."

Molly furrowed her brow. "Then why…"

"Did I buy all those things for Rosie?" Ron shrugged. "All those toys… they were so colorful and shiny. Some of them talk to her, and others sing. They're supposed to help her develop problem solving skills, hand-eye coordination, shape recognition, magical competency… You know, when I was little I always wanted a-a kitchen set." His face flared bright red. "Don't tell George, yeah?"

Molly pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. "Of course not."

"Anyway, I could buy that for Rose you know."

"And what will she do with it? Has she ever seen one of her parents use a stove?"

"We cook, Mum! Hermione's not starving us—Well, she does, but only because she says no person needs more than one bacon sandwich."

Molly tsked. "Do you think all of those shiny things will really make Rose any happier?"

Shifting slightly, Ron opened his mouth to answer, only to be saved by the sound of babyish babble. Molly looked past her son's shoulder and smiled to see Hermione standing in the doorway with little Rose. The eleven-month-old was clad in fuzzy, footed, pink pajamas, wooly red hair like a halo around her head.

"Well, there she is," Molly cooed, reaching for the little girl who happily came to her granny and began playing with the silver locket Molly wore around her neck. "Shiny, isn't it, love? And so smooth, see? Would you like to see inside?" Molly opened the locket to show Rose the photo inside. "That's your Uncle Fred. Say 'hello, Uncle Fred.'"

"'Lo," babbled the baby and both of her parents gasped.

"Did she—" Ron stuttered.

"I think so—" Hermione whispered.

"Hello, Rose!" they chorused.

The baby looked over her shoulder at them only briefly, then back at the shiny oval in her hands. "'Lo!"

"Her first word!" Ron gushed. "And no ordinary 'mummy' or 'daddy' business, either. I told you she was a genius."

Hermione pouted a bit. "I think I would have like to hear 'mummy' actually."

"And you will, dear," Molly assured her, kissing the baby's cheek. She gave Ron a pointed look then, "Look how happy she is, Ronald, just being cuddled."

Hermione looked nervously from her mother-in-law to her husband. "Did you know that I had twenty-five Barbie Dolls and a Dream House when I was little? I would have traded all of it for a younger sister to play with."

Molly didn't know what a Barbie Doll was, but she understood Hermione's point. All the toys in the world couldn't make up for companionship. That was why, even when she was mending a hole in the same knee for the fifth time, Molly had never felt poor. She didn't regret the things she couldn't give Ron as a child, not truly, because what she had given him was worth so much more.

"Well, maybe we can return some of them," Ron conceded, slumping in his chair. "But can we keep the play kitchen?"

Hermione beamed. "Of course we can!"

"I'll do it tomorrow," Ron said, the tips of ears going red. "The money I get back I can donate to the Sirius Black War Orphans' Home."

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione squealed. She launched herself into her husband's arms, peppering his beet red face with kisses. "I think that is a brilliant idea!"

"Well, my work here is done," Molly said, with an indulgent smile. She stood and returned Rose to her father's arms. "I'll see you for Sunday dinner."

"Of course," Hermione said, her cheeks pink from her public display of affection. "And thank you for talking some sense into Ron. He's so hard headed."

"Oi!" Ron barked.

"Any time, dear," Molly said.

"I'll see you out," Ron muttered.

Walking with Molly to the door, Rose in his arms, Ron was looking a bit sheepish. Molly pulled her coat on, fixing the scarf Fleur had knitted her around her neck. Smiling fondly at her son, Molly patted his cheek.

"I reckon, sometime after your father and I had Percy, we had to decide which was more important to us: the ability to buy more things or a larger family. It wasn't easy, having seven children, but I wouldn't change it if I could."

"I'm sorry if I implied that I didn't have a good childhood," Ron said, looking at his shoes. "I mean, I could have done without Fred and George's pranks all the time, but it was… you know, pretty great."

"I know, dear. And Rose is very lucky to have _you_ as a father."

"Cheers."

Molly pulled her youngest son into bone-crushing hug.

"Mum… Rose, you're going to mash her."

"Oh!" Molly pulled back. "Sorry, dear."

Opening the door, Ron waved his mother out into the gated neighborhood. The streetlamps were being lit, casting pools of golden light onto the sidewalks. There were snow flurries dancing in the whirling wind as Molly made it back to the gates. London was pretty like this, she supposed, but she would be glad to return to her snug country home.

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Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think with a review!


	7. Chapter 7: Mum

A/N: Once again, thank you to the wonderful Burgundy Hope for editing this collection for me. She publishes here on , so check her out if you haven't already. And, I know it goes without saying, but you'll leave lots of nice reviews. I'd like to thank keeptheotherone for giving the basic idea for this chapter. And, of course, thank you to all the readers!

A/N2: I like to write cannon stories as much as possible. However, I never liked the idea of hunky Charlie Weasley being so in love with dragons he never married. The following is my work around…

Disclaimer: All the characters and their world belong to JK Rowling (except one).

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Mum

Striding through the kitchen, Charlie nearly tripped over the small, black and tan body of one Minnie the Weiner Dog. With an exasperated chuckle, he scooped the little nuisance up, flipping her ear over. The damn little dog was always in the way.

"And where is your mistress?" Charlie asked.

Minnie licked his arm, ignoring him completely.

Leaning against the balustrade, Charlie yelled, "Mum!"

"Charlie, really, must you shout?"

The woman in question appeared from the scullery, wiping her hands on her apron. Mum was still pleasantly plump, her red hair having long ago gone white. She told whichever child was about that they were the reason for her white hair, but Charlie knew the real cause was the war. Her face was lined, and she wore glasses all the time now. Yet, she still had that comforting, loving aura that was all Mum.

"Now, Minnie, why didn't you tell me we had company," she cooed at the dog, scratching her around the collar. "She barks her head off whenever Bill comes about."

"That's because Bill doesn't like animals," Charlie replied.

"Can't imagine why," Mum retorted wryly.

Charlie chuckled. Growing up sharing a room, Bill had been on the receiving end of all of Charlie's animal misadventures. Bill had been shat upon by countless critters, and apparently found the experience objectionable.

"She doesn't care for George much either," Mum commented.

'That's because George pulls on her ears, miserable sod that he is."

"True. You would have thought he'd grow out it by now." She looked at Charlie. "What brings you by today? I wasn't expecting to see you until the end of term."

Charlie was saved from answering right away by Mum's insistence on making tea. The truth was, Charlie had two reasons for this unexpected visit, and he wasn't sure how his mum was going to react to either. Taking his regular seat at the kitchen table, Minnie in his lap, he watched his mum bustle around the kitchen.

In all of his life, Charlie had never known anyone with a larger capacity for love than his mother. There were times she made a person work for it—as she had done with Fleur, and to a lesser extent with Audrey—but once that love was given, it was with full force. Many times Charlie had reason to be thankful for her loving acceptance, but never so much as when he'd become the sole parent to a child who was only his in his heart.

Charlie's twenties had been marked in two halves. The first half was filled by his love of dragons. The second half was his love for the child who would eventually become his son. All of it was marred by the war.

When his son, Pax, was just five-years-old, his mother died, leaving him an orphan. Charlie was the only father the boy had ever known, and there had never been any question in Charlie's heart that he would raise the boy. He'd had to rearrange his entire life to do so. He left his fantastic dragons, and the only home the boy had ever known, for the Burrow. The love Mum had lavished on Pax in those first months had healed Charlie as much as it had worked its magic on the boy.

All of that was ten years ago. Charlie had taken the job of Care of Magical Creatures professor at Hogwarts. A job he was sure that Hagrid hadn't really wanted to leave, despite his protestations that he would be happier returning to being only Gamekeeper and Keeper of the Keys. Regardless, Charlie was grateful to at least be able to continue working with animals and having the vast grounds of Hogwarts to raise Pax. Over the years, Charlie had watched the children of his friends and brothers come up to Hogwarts, which had been a joy of its own. Now, however, things had changed.

"Well," Mum said, setting two steaming mugs on the table. "What did you have to talk to me about?"

Charlie scratched Minnie behind the ears. "Why is it, after all those years of begging for a pet, you got a dog after I'm grown?"

"Honestly, I was lonely in this big house with no children about. Minnie provides me company. Although, your father will retire next year and I fear I'll have too many bodies underfoot."

"It's about time."

"Well, yes." Mum gave him a look. "But you didn't make the trip all the way from Hogwarts to talk about Minnie, or your father."

Charlie took a sip of tea. "I reckon you're right. Mum, I met somebody."

"Oh?!" She clapped her hands together, her utterance more exclamation than question.

"She's a bit younger than me, Ron's age actually. You might remember her… Lavender Brown?"

He hadn't meant to say Lavender's name like a question, but Charlie suddenly felt seventeen instead of forty. He kept a steady gaze locked with his mother's as she tried to work out how she knew Lavender. She was a rather famous designer of handbags and shoes, George was even one of her first investors. She'd also been a member of Dumbledore's Army that final year of the war. Lavender had fought in the final battle and ended up being mauled by Greyback like Bill. But if Charlie knew his mother, what she would remember about Lavender would be something completely different.

"Wasn't she…" Mum's eyes narrowed.

"Ron's girlfriend for a time at Hogwarts?" Charlie supplied. "Yes, she's also Seamus Finnegan's ex-wife. All of that is ancient history."

Mum opened her mouth, then deflated. "Oh, Charlie. Does Ron know? Does Hermione?"

"Yes, Ron was rather flabbergasted, but Hermione was congratulatory."

"How long having you been seeing her?"

"Nine months."

"And this is the first I'm hearing of it!"

It was not a question.

Charlie smiled sheepishly. "We've been taking it slow… We've both been hurt before."

Mum covered his hand, her face crumpling.

"Don't cry, Mum, all of that is ancient history, too."

"Have you introduced her to Pax?"

One thing about being a Weasley was that blushing was an uncontrollable reflex. Pax had in fact met Lavender at the end of the last term. When she was naked in Charlie's bed, that was in his cottage, that was on the grounds of Hogwarts. It had been awkward, but Pax finally learned the value of knocking.

"Er, yes. They get on quite well."

"I think there's a story there," Mum grumbled, but let it go. "Well, I'm glad he likes your… your girlfriend?"

"That's as good a word for her as any."

"Do you think you'll marry her?"

This was a point of contention for Charlie and Lavender. He'd long ago given up being conventional, but somehow Lavender brought out a long-buried desire in Charlie to get married. They had talked about it, though Charlie had not come right out and asked. Lavender was firm in her reasons to never marry again, even if Charlie didn't agree.

"I would like to, but she won't agree to it," Charlie asked.

Mum puffed up like an indignant hen. "And why not?"

"This is between you and me," Charlie warned. "She was attacked by Greyback in the war, and she can't carry a pregnancy to term. The grief of all those miscarriages ended her first marriage, and now she won't tie me to a childless marriage. Her words, not mine."

Tears were in Mum's eyes. "Oh, the poor girl."

Lavender was many things, but _girl_ was not one of them. Charlie had tried to talk her around. He had a son, after all, he didn't need more children to make his life complete. He loved Lavender and wanted to be with her, the rest didn't matter. But he stopped when he saw all of his arguments were just hurting her. There was an unspoken promise between them as ironclad as any marriage contract, that would be enough for now.

"I'd like to bring Lavender to dinner this Sunday," Charlie said. "And it would mean a lot to me if you could accept her… without reservation."

Mum looked at him for a long time, her mouth pulled tight in the corners, then she nodded. "Yes, I can do that for you."

Charlie smiled. "Thanks, Mum. Now that I have that out of the way…"

"There's more? Why do I think I should lay down for awhile once you've left?"

"Not a bad idea probably." Charlie let his smile slip because he knew this next part wasn't going to sit well with her. "I'm leaving Hogwarts at the end of the term."

"What? Where will you go?"

"Romania."

Mum's eyes went round, her fingers curling into her palm. "Charlie!"

"The dragon reserve contacted me about a month ago."

"Charlie, no."

"Yes, and Lavender's coming with me."

"What about Pax?"

"He's at Hogwarts most of the year now, and he'll be of age before I know it. He doesn't need me to be safe and sound in England anymore."

"Yes, he does, and he's not the only one."

"And he wants to go back to Romania as much as I do. Remember, Pax spent the first five years of his life on that reserve, it's still his home in some ways. In fact, that's what he's hoping to do after graduation."

"Like father, like son," Mum grumbled, then sighed. "Oh Charlie, you have known so much disappointment in your life. I-I'm glad that you'll get a second chance at your dream."

Charlie's hand froze on the back of the dog, and it was a moment before he could look at his mum again. He knew exactly how hard it was for her to be happy for him where the dragons were concerned. What she said was the truth, however, the dragons had been his dream since he was a child. It hadn't been easy to give them up for Pax's sake, but it was the right thing to do and Charlie couldn't regret it. Adopting Pax had been a dream he'd never expected and Charlie was honored to have it come true.

"Cheers," Charlie muttered thickly.

"Oh! Come here!"

Mum stood, her arms open, and Charlie obeyed.

"I expect you to be at every Sunday dinner from now until you leave. Your birthday, Christmas, and New Year's, too! I want every moment I can have with you before you go."

"It's just Romania, Mum. I'll still come visit."

She pulled away, wiping tears from her cheeks. "Not nearly enough."

"Love you," Charlie said.

"Not as much as I love you."

And he was crushed in her embrace once more.

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A/N3: Thanks again! Don't forget to review….


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